


Downpour

by antivanbrandy



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Kissing in the Rain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-10
Updated: 2016-04-10
Packaged: 2018-06-01 12:36:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6519961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/antivanbrandy/pseuds/antivanbrandy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And then it’s just the two of them, the way Anders likes it best. Hawke is soaked through and delightfully disheveled, hair in her eyes and tunic sticking to her skin, and Anders can’t help the laugh that rises inside him when she shakes a foot mid-run to shift excess water, just like a cat.</p>
<p>--</p>
<p>Hawke and Anders make a dash for home in the rain, eager to get warm and dry. Gratuitous fluff.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Downpour

The rain is coming in hard now, near deafening as fat droplets crash down over Kirkwall. They run rivers over the masonry, washing it clean of muck and filth, of crime and corruption; at least for the moment. People all over the city, noble and mercenary and peasant alike, scurry to return to their houses, to find shelter from the downpour.

It’s welcomed by some and cursed by others. But as the conditions make a perfect conduit for Anders’ spell, the last of the bandits before them frying and convulsing in a spectacular electrical display, Hawke couldn’t appear happier.

Already drenched to the bone she turns and grins, sodden hair falling into her eyes, and Anders can’t help but grin back. Even looking like a drowned rat isn’t enough to dampen the light she seems to exude.

With business concluded she makes the call, barely audible over the pounding rain, and the group begins a mad dash for warmer and drier surrounds.

Sticking to cover as best he can to avoid complete saturation, Anders spares a thought for the souls in Darktown; likely cold and shivering, trying in vain to shield themselves from the elements. Not for the first time he utters a silent prayer of thanks to the Maker that he wont have to join them - with it comes guilt, but only for a moment. It’s hard to focus on feeling guilty when Hawke reaches for his hand, her palm warm despite the chill in the air, and gives it a gentle squeeze.

Isabela alone seems to relish the change in weather. Her face is turned to the sky as they run and she’s laughing; a light, jubilant sound, free of overtone as she savors the feel of each icy droplet on her skin.

She peels away from the group early - perhaps headed for The Hanged Man, or maybe the docks. Sebastian stays with them all the way to Hightown, offering a hurried goodbye before sprinting in the direction of the Chantry.

And then it’s just the two of them, the way Anders likes it best. Hawke is soaked through and delightfully disheveled, hair in her eyes and tunic sticking to her skin, and Anders can’t help the laugh that rises inside him when she shakes a foot mid-run to shift excess water, just like a cat.

They’re not far from her estate when he stops without warning, tugging at Hawke’s hand to pull her into a nearby alcove. There’s barely enough room for them but it’s sheltered and dry, and neither seems to mind as they take the opportunity to catch their breath. They’re standing flush against one another, chests heaving, their clothing soaked through but the warmth of their bodies chases away the chill.

She smiles up at him, water dripping steadily into her eyes, and his heart beats a little faster at the affection in her gaze. It’s all the encouragement he needs; his arms snake around her waist, tugging her as close as he can. She stands on tiptoe to accommodate him and he leans down, slow and deliberate. When their mouths meet it’s a gentle thing, a tender brush of lips, soft and pliable and hungry.

He groans, low and needy, into her mouth. It’s not a deliberate sound but bubbles up from the core of him without warning; an unconscious reaction to her warmth. He can feel Hawke smile against his lips and he pulls her in tighter, deepening the kiss until they’re both gasping for air.

They pull apart with reluctance, cursing the need to breathe. Cold air rushes between them, dragging them out of the moment, and they’re reminded of the soggy state of their clothing, of the icy water dripping down scalp and spine.

Hawke begins to shiver, though she’s still smiling up at him with such warmth that Anders can barely manage to smile back. Years have passed since their first night, yet he’s still amazed that she can care so deeply for someone as flawed as he perceives himself to be.

He reaches up with an affectionate hand and brushes gentle fingertips over her cheekbones. She leans into his touch just as she always does, savoring each second of contact.

“Let’s go home, Sweetheart, before you catch a cold.”

Somehow she hears his murmur over the rain and nods, eyes shining like jewels in the low light of the alcove. They peel away from each other and quickly dash back out into the downpour, running with renewed incentive towards the estate they share.

When they reach the door Hawke fumbles with her key, cold hands making the simple task seem impossible. Anders, not one to miss an opportunity, steps up close behind her, the solid warmth of his body pressed against her back. A stifled gasp, followed by a giggle, escape her as his arms slide around her waist, his chin resting on her shoulder. He takes the key from her shaking hands and slowly slides the lock open.

They tumble inside in an instant, the warm, dry air a welcomed change as Hawke pulls him in for another kiss. They’re both grinning against the other, dripping copious amounts of water onto the hallway rug, and Anders barely has the presence of mind to kick the door shut behind him.

A gasp makes them spring apart.

“Oh, Mistress! Master Anders! You’re _soaked!_ ”

They’re being whisked out of the hallway and into the study by Orana before they have time to argue. Anders coat, the feathers damp and matted, disappears without a word, as do their boots and Hawke’s jerkin.

They’re seated on the floor by the fire to dry like a pair of naughty children, handed an over-sized fluffy blanket and told _soup is on its way_ , and the couple can only grin at each other in amusement. They peel away the last layers of their sodden clothing in silence; trousers, tunics, and socks left in a pile for later collection.

Anders settles down, clad only, just as she is, in his smalls, and savors the heat that radiates from the hearth. He wraps the blanket around his bare shoulders, a gentle smile warming his features, and gestures for Hawke to join him.

She scoots in close, letting him wrap the comforter around the two of them; safe and warm in their little cocoon.

She curls in towards his chest like a small kitten, the blanket pulled high around their bodies and his arms snug around her waist. They’re a perfect fit and she’s practically purring as she nuzzles in close, the warm, pale expanse of his collarbone soon peppered with lazy kisses.

“I love rainy days,” she sighs eventually. Anders only chuckles and presses a kiss to her damp hair. “So… bath later?”

Another chuckle, followed by a gentle squeeze.

“I wouldn’t miss it.”

**Author's Note:**

> This mini fic is a few years old now and originally from my tumblr, but I figured it was high time I started using this account. There's a few more pieces to come!


End file.
